


A Little Thing Called Hope

by renegadejaybird (vitious)



Series: The Long and Bloody Road [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:55:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vitious/pseuds/renegadejaybird





	A Little Thing Called Hope

When you’re told Archangel is a Turian, your heart skips a beat, hope rising in you even though you know that when it’s not him you’ll be devastated all over again.  You do everything in your power to keep from getting too attached to the fact that it has to be him, that this person you’re working hard to get to is one of the only people you trust anymore.  No, scratch that, he’s more than that and you know it, but you don’t want to acknowledge that, not again, not when you thought he was lost.

You kill freelance mercenaries, sabotage equipment, and risk your life to get across that bridge, working on auto-pilot.  You’re almost scared to go up those stairs, to find out who this infamous Archangel is, because you’re scared it won’t be _him_.  It doesn’t help that his armor is blue, scarred from previous encounters, and that he seems to hold the sniper rifle the same way, like a trusted companion.  You try to rein in your hope that it’s him because the similarities will just hurt worse when it isn’t and you _know_ that it can’t be him, that it’s too much of a coincidence.  But then he turns, removing his helmet, and your breath freezes in your lungs.

It _is_ him.  He’s just as you remember him, just a little weary from the days he spent fighting, and you start to go to him, crying his name out, but you stop yourself.  You don’t really trust your current team mates enough to let them in on what is really between you and the Turian and, immediately, he picks up on it.  You banter back and forth and you realize that he has changed a little, there’s confidence there now, along with bitterness, sadness, and anger.  In a way you suppose that the entire universe has grown up and left you behind, but he’s still Garrus, he’s still safe, still _alive_ and that’s all that matters.

Then you’re fighting side by side again and it feels good, feels normal.  You fight better than you ever did alongside Miranda and Jacob, your interactions are more natural, and you move like you read each others thoughts.  You fight to keep him alive, fending off foes with a desperation that you didn’t know you possessed.  In your head you keep reciting that you won’t lose him again, that you can’t take the thought of never seeing him again.  However suddenly everything falls apart, the gunship firing at him and keeping you pinned down so you stand no chance of helping him.

Suddenly he’s going for cover and everything seems to slow down as the rocket launcher on the craft fires.  It hits Garrus hard, sending him sprawling across the floor and for a moment you can’t breathe, panic is clawing at your gut, and you immediately bolt to his side and call his name.  He doesn’t move, is deathly still even as you gently shake him, and suddenly your filled with rage for this man, this Tarak that just stripped the only man in the Galaxy you loved from you right after you’d found him again.

You take down the craft easily enough, satisfaction rolling through you as it belches smoke.  However it is quickly replaced by dread and fear as you rush over to Garrus and check to see if maybe, just maybe, you’ll get lucky twice.  Hope is something you should have learned not to have after all the heartbreak and disaster that has befallen you, but you still cling to it now.  Suddenly his eye snaps open and he takes in a wheezing gasp of pain, causing you to call his name as Jacob heals him the best he can; it’s not much, but he’s alive. 

When it comes to getting Garrus back to the ship its you that carries him, not even pausing to consult the other two with you.  You move as quickly as you can without jarring and hurting the Turian in your arms, the entire time murmuring at him to hang on.  Your dark armor is stained a deep blue from his blood in places and his breathing sounds wet from  the blood pouring into his mouth.  You’re terrified and elated at the same time.  Yes, he could still die, but he isn’t _dead_ , survived that damn explosion that would have killed most.  Mentally you think that Garrus is too tough to be taken down that easily and you cling to that, like a man clinging to a rotted branch in a roaring river, about to be swept away.  You have to cling to it because without it you’ll fall apart, you won’t be able to keep moving, keep running, keep fighting.

Joker knows as soon as you come in the door; he was part of the old crew so he gives you a quick, rare, pained look when he sees who is in your arms.  Dr. Chakwas immediately has you lay him down, reaching out to gently squeeze your shoulder before telling you that you have to leave.  You don’t want to but you understand, giving her a pleading look, begging her to save him so you don’t have to lose him.  You turn and leave, heading immediately to your cabin, staring down at your blood-sodden arm, feeling sick and heart broken.  Despite that you don’t let EDI wash it, not yet, letting it stain the fabric in case it’s the only thing you wind up having of his.  Perhaps its a bit morbid but you don’t care, not at this point as you step into the shower and brace your fisted hands against the chill, metal wall and finally let the tears fall.   You aren’t perfect, you can’t handle all this at once and you don’t care if it makes you less of a man.

 Time passes.  You finally drag yourself from your quarters to do something productive with yourself because the Galaxy isn’t going to save itself, it seems.  It is always your job to clean up after the rest of the universe because nobody else is going to do it, nobody else will see the truth.  That doesn’t stop you from wishing that someone would step forward so you didn’t have to do this all alone, so that you weren’t having to work with a crew of strangers because everyone else had moved on.  Why couldn’t the Alliance stop deluding themselves?  Why couldn’t the new council? 

You’re working in the briefing room when Jacob comes in and starts discussing Garrus.  You try to keep as calm as possible given the situation, but your composure is cracking.  Jacob knows that you’re hurting, you can tell from the tone of his voice, but he’s also honest, something that you respect from him in any other situation.  Right now the honesty just makes you feel cold inside until the point where he talks about having full functionality; nobody even told you he was stable.  There’s that blasted thing called hope again, rising in your chest as you stare at the other man and your head whips around when the door swishes open.

Garrus is there, standing, walking, _living_ and you want to simultaneously punch him and hold him like you never want to let go.  However you settle for a smile that you hope holds everything you want to express; your worry, your relief, your happiness.  His expression shows that he understands, even though both of your words are joking banter and, since your back is to Jacob, you figure that your secret is still fairly safe.  However that doesn’t matter nearly as much as the fact that Garrus _survived_ and is  in front of you, that he’ll heal and is safe for the moment.

Jacob finally salutes and leaves, causing you to, briefly, wonder if he knows more than you thought before you’re moving forward, a little too quickly, before stopping, mindful of the Turian’s injuries.  Swallowing you slowly wrap your arms around him, careful to not hold too tightly or to brush areas that are injured still, tucking your face against his armor.  His arms curl around you as well, though he’s obviously still weary, still hurting, but warm, alive, and that’s all that matters to you.

“ _Garrus._ ” It’s choked, desperate, muffled against the Turian’s armor, and says everything while saying nothing at all.

“Shepard.” He murmurs back, his tone uncertain but warm; you know you have a lot to explain, you know the two year void between you won’t just disappear, but there’s something to salvage there still.

“We need to talk.”

“Yeah… But this is okay… For now.  Just this.”

“Thank you…” Because all you care about is that there’s hope.


End file.
